


Roses with no petals

by t0talcha0s



Series: LSPM Universe [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: A companion piece to Lilies Spray Painted Metal, Alcohol Addiction, Another title blatantly stolen from angel haze, Any character other then Roxy and Dirk doesn't matter., Drug Addiction, F/M, Happy Ending, M/M, Roxy's POV, but only if you read LSPM will you understand that, gun mention, mentions of self harm, mentions of stripping, poverty/homelessness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-26 11:53:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3850009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/t0talcha0s/pseuds/t0talcha0s
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You live for very few things, but you are absolutely positive, as long as he's alive, you'll remain living for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roses with no petals

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Lilies spray-painted metal](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3703007) by [t0talcha0s](https://archiveofourown.org/users/t0talcha0s/pseuds/t0talcha0s). 



> Oh look. Another Drabble in this universe. But a happy one.  
> The Dirkroxy is not written romantically ✌ 

You met him when you were six years old on the local playground. He was playing by himself, a puppet wrapped around his shoulders like a mix between a security blanket and a baby monkey. His hair a wavy mess, swooping back behind his head. He was sitting in the field, a few dandelions scattered around him, while he wove grass together to build little sculptures. You watched him for a few minutes. He had weird black glasses on and his shirt had a little orange propeller hat on it. His cheeks mottled with freckles from being in the sun, and slightly rosy as he worked hard on his project. You walked over to him and jutted a hand out to him. His covered eyes skimmed up your arm until reaching your face, you beamed a smile down at him. 

"Hello." You said. "I'm Roxy. Can I play with you?" He takes your hand and his fingers are skinny and cool. He flashed you a smile you wish you saw more often and suddenly he pulls you down to the ground next to him. Him sitting crosslegged and you ended up messily sitting next to him. 

"I'm Dirk." You immediately liked his voice, and the sound of his name. "And this is Cal." He motioned to the puppet smiling at you from his shoulder. He held up one of the little grass figures he was making. "We're making a town." The figure drooped and you thought it sort of resembled a person. You nodded and he went back to work. He was very quiet and instead of making his boring grass people, you quickly began plucking all of the dandelions around him. You arranged them in a circle like your teacher, Ms. English, taught you to make. With a triumphant smile you plopped your creation atop his messy, white, wispy hair. A few petals fell onto his nose and he sneezed as he looked over at you. The movement caused the flowers to fall down and they drooped over his nose and hung off his shades. It was ridiculous looking. He began to laugh and he flashed you a smile, you returned one brighter. 

-

The two of you became fast friends, you hardly spent a day apart. Back when the two of you had parents they loved each other, best friends, like they knew each other in another life, so they completely endorsed your time together. Days afterwords spent sprawled over each other on the newest foster parents couch. The third family in eighteen months. You were thirteen, he was fourteen, at some point he started telling the families you were siblings to make sure they wouldn't try to separate you two. Dirk was tall and skinny, nothing but bones and skin and occasional muscle. You wanted to get him on a scale to make sure he wasn't grossly underweight, you had your suspicions with how he kept giving you his food when you weren't given enough. You were a bit shorter, hair curlier and skin much darker, he was a sheet of paper where you were a desk. An oddly accurate metaphor given he was draped across you on the couch. You flicked his side. 

"Dirk, hey." He tilted his face out of your collarbone and rested his chin on it to look at you. 

"Yeah?"

"You ever figure we'll get a family who actually cares about us." His lips twitched ever downward before returning to their usual pokerface. 

"I figure we shouldn't even call these people family. I've got enough family with you Y'know." You smiled and gently stroked his back. 

"Yeah. I've got you." 

-

Your first party was the worst day of your life. Not initially and most certainly not obviously. You had fun, perhaps fun for the first time in a long time since you and Dirk ran away after a particularly bad family. You were both seasoned thieves, and a bit of bribing and working and you'd managed to find yourselves temporary homes. Always staying long enough to have another secured. This particular party was thrown by Rufioh, one of the contacts Dirk had made to keep you and he alive. Dirk's hand was grabbed and he was taken to another room, flashing you a smile before he was whisked away by some strange man, presumably Rufioh. You stood in the kitchen awkwardly and soon an Asian woman with a blunt in her hands, smoke curling from her nostrils, and a smile that showed she was broken and hollow, handed you a cup. You sniffed it- its smell wasn't strong and you couldn't smell much at all- before you took a drink. The liquid burned your throat and was hard to drink and had little flavor, only a pleasant sting. It filled your veins with warmth and soon you found yourself having drunk five cups and euphoric. Dirk returned and you swore to him this liquid was magic, you felt on top of the world. You couldn't see his eyes bloodshot and pupils dilated, you couldn't tell of the euphoria flowing through him. His a combination of pills, smoke, and the gentle slice of a razor. In both your cases, the first party of your life was the one that impacted it the most. 

-

The first time he brought it up your were at a party, sixteen, martini in hand. He had given you a look, and your eyes flashed to the scars on his wrist and the pills you knew were slowly making their way down his throat. Hypocrite. He took your hand, the one without the booze, and dragged you outside. He tried to take your martini and you snapped at him. 

"What the hell do you want Dirk!?" It was short, snappy, and his hand flinched off of it's grip on yours. He looked surprise and hurt for a second, at least if you know what that looks like, before his face returned to steely. 

"Rox," Your nickname, a cheap shot to get you to be less angry about his dragging you away from a good time. "I've been thinking." He took a breath. "We need to get organized, plan-" 

"Dirk what good has your planning ever done?"

"My plans have kept us alive."

"Last time we followed your plan we ended up emaciated while you almost turned to whoring yourself so we would survive." His jaw clenches.

"That's what had to be done considering the circumstances, but this lifestyle we have right now... It's leading nowhere." You scoffed. 

"Are we really going anywhere?" 

"Well we can certainly try and not resign ourselves to this." He gestured around him and for the first time you reached up and pushed his shades atop his head. You frowned at him. His eyes were bloodshot and wide and he was so obviously high. 

"You can't say that to me when you're so high you're in orbit." 

"Roxy I'm being serious."

"So am I! You can't shame me for trying to be happy when you're being just as cowardly to block out the pain." His mouth closed. "Dirk I know you're working so, so hard for us to get somewhere. But come on. Where are we going? We've got no parents, no support. Do you know what we are?" You rose an eyebrow at him and when he didn't respond you raised it further and gestured to him. "We're two cowards. I can't seem to do anything but knock back vodka and try to pretend life doesn't fucking hurt, and you." You almost barked out a laugh. "Dirk, you've got scars on your wrists, and smoke in your lungs, and your mind, that brilliant mind, is dulled because you can't handle the pain either. And you coming to me high and demanding I change my habits is nothing if not the move of a hypocritical coward. So if you want me to take anything you're saying seriously, you need to do this too." He paused, unspeaking for a few minutes, his thinking slowed, before he nodded. 

"Together?" 

"Hm?"

"We'll do this together then. We'll find a life and get off these damn crutches," he gestured to your cup. "And we'll get jobs and we'll be better. We'll face the fucking pain then. No more cowards?" He held his hand out to you and you nodded and took it. 

"Together." 

-

Getting better was not easy nor effective. More then you can count you were sneaking booze, discretely, going to parties and you saw new, neat scars form on Dirk and empty pill containers scattered about. Each relapse worse then the rest, but you and Dirk never stopped trying to drag yourselves out of the cycle. It's still something you struggle with, and you're still trying to wean Dirk off cigarettes. 

-

When you buy your first gun he's standing right next to you and glaring at the cashier when he flirts with you. It was for protection, the two of you had found a living, a rather distasteful place downtown called Lilies, but you'd have taken any job you could get. The gun was bought for protection, Dirk had his switchblade, and you knew Dirk had only saved up to buy you a gun for show. Anyone who tried to hurt you would get a jawful of fist, and one they would not walk away from unscathed. but people are more afraid of a gun then a fist and Dirk wanted you safe. He wasn't a fan of guns, still isn't, never was, but you can handle one better then any other weapon thanks to a man who taught you. His name was Jake and he was probably the only person Dirk ever took a romantic warming too, but their relationship was shit and that turned out poorly. He would always support you, he has, and as you took your new firearm in your palm the weight was natural and pleasant and you have him a hug. He kissed your head and chuckled. 

"Happy birthday." He whispered. 

"It's not even my birthday."

"Hey close enough, I've lost track of when that shit is." There was an unspoken, because we never had money or cause to celebrate them. "So consider it today." You laugh and bury yourself in his neck. 

"Love you Dirk." 

"You too Lalonde." 

-

He looks over at you as you smile dumbly at him from the vantage point of your shitty couch you found on the side of the road. 

"What's up with the face?" He arches a white-blond eyebrow at you. He's sitting crosslegged on the other end of the couch, there's a tattered and dog-eared copy of 1984 in his lap. Leisurely relaxing in pyjama pants and a tanktop. He looks calm and it's nice. 

"Just thinkin'." 

"What about?"

"Our lives."

"Anything interesting?"

"Nah I'm just..." You feel your dopey smile soften a little. "'M just glad I've got you." He puts his book on the leg of the couch and grabs you while he moves closer. Wrapping you in a large, endearing hug in the middle of the couch. 

"I love you too dork." He wraps his arms tighter around you and you squeeze yours around him until you're sure he can't breathe. "I don't know what I'd do without you." You gave him a smile to rival suns and he returns it with a look in his eyes to put stars to shame. Your brother, your friend, everything you could ever care about, and more then you could ever deserve. You know you've hurt and mangled him, and he's done the same to you. You also know you could never live without him.

**Author's Note:**

> I fucking love George Orwell 1984 is an excellent book.  
> I probably won't do much with this AU other then just having it out there. Hope you enjoy it.  
> I'm on tumblr at Barefootcosplayer so hit me up.


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